Bittersweet Eyecandy
by Leraika
Summary: Bella has moved to Forks and wants to start afresh, leaving behind the dangers of Arizona. However, little does she know that she's walking into a world far more deadly than the one she left. Now if only that pretty boy would leave her alone!
1. Chapter 1

**Hi everyone! This is not going to be a normal Twi-fic. Seriously AU, and not to be taken completely seriously, I basically thought: "What if Bella hadn't been attracted to Edward?" And then the thought took root in my subconscious. Like an evil alien parasite, it grew inside me until it exploded out of my chest and then there was no turning back! **

**Grisly, but metaphorically true. **

**Disclaimers: I do not own any recognisable characters or scenarios associated with the Twilight Series. **

**Warnings: This Bella has a strong personality and knows who she is – so this may start the way the book does, but it will take a different direction. **

**Despite the majority of the narrative being Bella's POV, there *will* be alternative voices in 3****rd**** person. I have tried to make this as non-confusing as possible.**

* * *

><p>I was asleep when the plane landed, and the jolt of touchdown woke me a little too abruptly. The old woman next to me looked like she might burst into applause – one of those wearisome people who are a little too forceful when sharing their feelings. I hoped that this wouldn't set the tone for my years at Forks; I might mail myself back to Arizona.<p>

As the plane taxied, I thought about what I'd left in Phoenix: Mum and Phil… both were good people. I knew Phil would keep an eye on Mum, because that woman had the vacuous mind of a teenager. I was only seventeen, and had already spent far too much time holding my mother's hand as she bemoaned yet another failed enterprise. Worse still, she called me her 'middle-aged daughter' – which sadly showed just what sort of dynamic the household had. It also probably explained why I don't have a lot of time for people my own age.

Phil and I had sent my things to Forks the previous week, so I only had one suitcase with me as I shuffled with the rest of the herd towards the exit.

When I caught sight of my dad in Arrivals, I was really grateful that he wasn't holding a sign. He looked nervous, but nevertheless I was pulled into one of his awesome hugs – they were his speciality, and I always felt safe in his arms.

"Hey Bells," he said, holding me at arm's length so he could get a good look at my face. "Can't tell you live in Arizona or the Arctic," he joked. I shrugged his hands off and shook my head ruefully.

"I've long since given up on a tan. You know I'm not one of those Southern Belles."

"Yeah, you're more like Hell's Bells."

I groaned at the awful pun, but Dad was far too pleased with himself to notice and mouthed the words again. Clearly he liked the idea so much that this nickname was going to stay.

"You're not going to call me that in front of other people are you?" I asked warily. The answering smile promised nothing but mischief, and I felt my stomach clench.

* * *

><p>The drive back to Forks was quiet and uneventful, so I took the opportunity to look at the landscape outside. Comparatively, Phoenix was arid and hot. But it was also full of chaotic people (my mother being a prime example of this demographic), noise and movement… it was my urban paradise. Full of colourful characters – some of whom were friends I would always miss.<p>

By the time we arrived in Forks, I was weirdly relieved to finally be there – the anticipation had been worse than the actual event. Like most things. Dad showed me to my room, and then left. Clearly the man felt awkward and I couldn't blame him: he would be responsible for his teenage daughter for the foreseeable future – and I think part of him was almost afraid of me.

But I really did want to be there – it was a change of scenery. Because no matter how exciting and vibrant Phoenix was, there was something impersonal about it. Part of me wanted to see what it was like to live in a community where everyone knew each other's names and lives. Where the weather could choose to be anything it wanted. This was a fresh start – a chance to reinvent myself.

* * *

><p><strong>CHARLIE: <strong>

Charlie didn't know what to make of his daughter. One moment she had been a laughing little girl, full of smiles and ebullient in her affection for everything.

And yet only a few short years later, the slim, smirking teenager with the cool, watchful eyes of an adult who was almost a stranger. This wasn't his joyful child, but an independent young adult who was perfectly capable of looking after herself. Did she really need him at all? What could he offer her that she couldn't get for herself?

Only love and his protection.

* * *

><p>As I was unpacking, I heard a truck pull up outside the house and went to the window to have a look: two men – no, a boy and a man in a wheelchair – were climbing out of a battered red pick-up truck. Dad went out to meet them, his voice raised in greeting. Time to meet the locals. I squinted down at the two… oh. So they were <em>very <em>local. Quileute tribesmen.

I managed to not kill myself in the journey from my room to the front door and skidded to a halt in front of them, smiling curiously.

"Bella, you remember Billy and Jacob Black?" Dad said, by way of introduction. I grinned and shook hands with them.

"Of course! It's been way too long. Didn't we make mud pies together?" I said, turning to Jacob, who ducked his head with a smile.

Billy grinned up at me, but I could tell he was trying to read me. But with nothing to hide, I just smiled blandly back.

"You know Charlie's been talking everyone's ears off for weeks about your arrival," Billy said with a sly look at Dad who turned away in embarrassment. Billy and I shared a rather evil look. Hey, I may love my dad, but there's no harm in a little ribbing.

"Keep talking and I'll roll you into the mud," Charlie said.

"Not if I ram you in the ankles!" Billy said gleefully, and started to chase my Dad along the road. For a guy propelled by just his arms on a slope, he really had my dad dodging and dancing along the tarmac.

As Dad and Billy started to joke with each other, Jacob turned to me with that same slightly shy smile.

"Mud pies?" He said. I shrugged and stuck my hands in my pockets. Then the 'grown-ups' joined us again.

"Having fun?" I said, it was good to see my dad grin – he didn't look like he did smile very much.

Billy grinned up at me – he seemed like a big-hearted man. "So, now you're hooked up with your own wheels, we'll be able to see more of you," he said and patted the side of the truck. I looked at the truck, then at Dad, who answered with a grin.

"No way," I breathed, turning to the truck again – looking at it in a whole new light. My very own car! "No way!" I said, a little louder. The joy that filled my chest was indescribable – for months I'd been begging my mother to let me have my own car, I'd got my license after all, but that was one of the few times she'd stuck to her guns. Probably had something to do with the fact many people in Phoenix drove like they were on LSD.

"Yeah, Charlie bought it off me because he knew he wouldn't be able to drive you around… what with all the bad guys to catch." Billy said. I wanted to hug Dad there and then, but he'd cleverly put Billy in front of him.

"I rebuilt the engine as well," Jacob piped up. I stared at him in wonderment: good with machinery too. I could barely work a toaster, so this was a point of envy and admiration for me. I grinned and hopped into the truck, Jacob following me. Billy and my dad went into the house, talking about some game, and leaving me with Jacob to talk cars.

"You'll have to pump the clutch twice when shifting, but it's a good truck." He said, a little awkwardly. I smiled at him as I ran my hands over the steering wheel – my own car… and a truck no less.

"I couldn't care less if she looks like she's been through a war – this is now my truck and I love her!" I exclaimed.

"Hey you two! Come on in, the game's about to start!" Dad stuck his head out the window to shout at us, and I waved at him through the slightly grimy windscreen.

"Sure thing!" I yelled back. Jacob passed me the keys and we climbed out. Then I conscientiously locked the truck's doors.

"What… what are you doing?" Jacob asked, an uncertain look on his face.

"Locking the doors – you never know…" I started to say.

"Bella, you're the police chief's daughter. Anyone who steals your car would have to be suicidal."

I smirked at the thought. While the idea of a reputation preceding me sounded darkly delicious, it also made me realise that this was part of Small-Town-Life. Everyone knew you, and there was no getting away from it, no way to be anonymous. The realisation shook me slightly, and I shakily pocketed the car keys and walked silently up to the house, Jacob trailing after me.

* * *

><p>After the game, I was coerced into promising to visit the Blacks in La Push. I didn't mind, they were nice and friends with my dad. There was even a mention of fishing, which made me visualise a scenario where I was hunkered under a leaking canvas while my dad stood waist deep in a creek, having the time of his life and begging me to join him in the hypothermia-inducing conditions.<p>

Sadly Jacob went to school in La Push, so I had to go into a school where I didn't know anyone. In the middle of the Spring Semester.

Then my dad took me to a café, where I was given what I was told had been my favourite meal as a kid. It was still good, although I don't remember quite so many people staring at me last time I visited. News travels fast here – privacy might be an issue. Not that I had anything terrible to hide, it was just that mistakes would be remembered… every detail examined by curtain-twitching neighbours.

The social claustrophobia set in and I began to feel anxious again. Dad noticed, and I had to lie, saying I was tired from the long flight and just wanted to chill. He was all too ready to bundle me back into his car and drive us back. He didn't hover unnecessarily, but that man had a Ph.D. in 'fuss'. So until he was sure I was comfortable in my room with some hot cocoa, he wouldn't leave me alone.

"I'll be at the station, but you have my number, so if you need anything just call." He said from the doorway. I nodded and smiled. My dad may have no clue about how to deal with teenage girls, but he was so sincere it was almost painful and I could forgive his parental concern.

I spent the rest of the day unpacking my stuff, cleaning my room, and bagging up all the things I didn't need or want anymore. By the time I was finished it looked rather Spartan. I didn't really care: extroverted self-expression was almost as bad as being one of the herd.

When Dad got back, I made spaghetti bolognaise and he told me everything he thought I should know about Forks. Top of the list of important places were the police station and the hospital.

"Honestly dad, do you really have so little faith in me?" I said, feeling annoyed. "I managed to survive Phoenix for the past ten years – surely Forks doesn't have half the awful characters Arizona managed to produce."

"I just want you to be safe, Bells. And if you know where to find help then it'll put my mind at ease." Dad said, and I felt guilty suddenly. I hadn't told him everything.

"Uh, dad… there's been something I've been meaning to tell you…" I started. To his credit, Dad didn't visibly freak out, although I did notice the way his hand suddenly tightened around the fork handle.

"What…?" he began, but I talked over him quickly – no point in scaring him further.

"A while ago I started taking self-defence classes in Phoenix. The school was really insistent about it after some gang rivalries spilled over into school. I can do a few things that'll buy me time to run away screaming at the top of my lungs." I said with a self-deprecating smile.

"Such as?" Dad insisted; he wanted to know just how good I was. Well crap… okay…

"Uh, well, I found I really enjoyed hitting things. So I asked my mum if I could give up ballet and take up jiu-jitsu instead." There was a weighty silence while I sipped at my glass of water. "Mind you, this was several years ago now. Anyway, she enrolled me the next day and I'm now a black belt."

"I see…" Clearly the poor man had no idea how to process the information, so I helped his train of thought along.

"I've been trained to fight off and disable people attacking me with weapons as well as just their fists. I think I'll be able to handle myself."

Dad was still quiet for a long time. Then, amazingly, he started to laugh.

"And here I was thinking about how the hell I was going to talk to you about boys…" he wiped at his eyes and took my hands in his. "Oh Bells, you sure know how to put your old man's blood pressure through the roof."

I laughed at that. "So I'll be spared the 'Boys Talk'?"

Dad shook his head and leaned back. "Not a chance kiddo – you may be able to break their arms, but they could still break your heart."

* * *

><p>Things were quiet, and I thought I'd gotten away with anonymously arriving at school. But the moment I stepped out of the truck, I could feel many eyes upon me. Maybe it's because school is the natural hunting ground for all sorts of developing human predators, but I'm sensitive to people looking at me.<p>

I silently noted all the gleaming cars decorated with gleaming students. My truck and I stuck out as shabby rejects. Like I care. I can be the bit of thuggish rough for them to jeer at. Then I'll knock out some teeth, bust some noses, and take names… all in a day's work.

"Nice ride," said a guy in a football jersey, sneering at me as I locked my truck's doors.

"Nice one," a bimbo to his right said, perhaps sucking up in the hopes of losing her virginity.

I glared at him: "Screw you," I snarled. I have no patience for such jerks. As I walked up to the school, I heard them muttering stuff about me. So much for turning over a new leaf and reinventing myself as a nice person…

But their bitching didn't bother me overly – they'd probably forget me within a couple of days at most. Right then, I was more concerned with finding my way to the school office and collecting my timetable.

But help was about to approach me. I know he'd spotted me from his vantage point at the top of the stairs, and as I paused, pretending to look at the crudely drawn map given to me by my dad, he made his move.

"Hey, you must be the new girl, Isabelle Swan," he circled me like a shark and grabbed my hand without me offering it. "I'm Eric, the eyes and ears of this place. Anything you need, uh, tour guide, lunch date, shoulder to cry on…" I couldn't take any more of this, especially from someone as oddly friendly as him. He couldn't be for real.

"Thanks, but I'm more the 'suffer in silence' type," I said sarcastically, trying to move ahead, but the annoying little brat kept pace.

"Ha ha…" Eric was sounding a little hesitant. "Good headline for the future. I'm also on the school newspaper, and you are big news – front page, baby." I didn't like the sound of that. Nor did I like being called 'baby'.

I turned to him and summoned my most evil aura to blacken the scowl I crafted on my face.

"O-okay. Chillax. No feature…?" Eric said, backing away, his hands raised. I nodded, eyes narrowed in a sincere promise of suffering. I hated that word: chillax. Where had _real _words crept off to in peoples' minds?

"I'm _so_ glad we understand each other." I affirmed and walked on, leaving the prat in the shirt and tie to harass other people.

* * *

><p>In gym class, I instinctively knocked away the volleyball that was zooming to my head. However, it smacked into a guy playing basketball. I dashed over to retrieve the ball.<p>

"I'm so sorry, are you okay?" I asked, imagining how the infernally crafted Eric would get me on the front page after all – as the one who killed another pupil on her first day. Luckily he was already holding the ball out to me and grinning.

"I'm fine, really. You must be Isabella, right? I'm Mike, Mike Newton."

"Pleasure, and it's just Bella," I said with a tight smile, taking the ball from him.

"She's got a great spike huh?" Said an overly perky girl, who practically bounced to stand next to Mike. She looked at him, clearly seeking approval for her compliment. I noticed that Mike paid her very little attention and kept looking at me interestedly. Oh boy… this was exactly what I didn't want.

"I'm Jessica by the way," the girl said, smiling at me. I nodded, but Mike still hadn't even bothered to acknowledge her. "So you're from Arizona…" Jessica soldiered on; seemingly oblivious of the supreme awkwardness that was dominating the situation. "Aren't people from Arizona supposed to be really tanned?" Both looked at me expectantly.

Good grief, what was it with these people? I missed the cynicism and wry humour of the big city.

"Yeah," I said, my sarcasm demon not even trying to hide anymore. "I guess that's why they kicked me out." They both laughed like it was the most wonderful joke they had ever heard.

"You're good," Mike wagged a finger at me.

"Yeah, you're funny," Jessica concurred, chuckling and throwing looks at Mike.

Had these people never heard a joke before? I felt like I was like entertaining small children. I just walked away. It was too depressing. I had briefly considered if this was some sort of elaborate practical joke… but dismissed it. These people honestly seemed too densely earnest for such things.

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><p>To make matters worse, all these sycophants found me in the lunch hall. I had tried so hard to avoid them. But Eric had some sort of homing beacon on me and was sitting next to me before I could even sample the juice drink.<p>

Then as they wittered on, and Mike tried desperately to flirt with me (to Jessica's poorly concealed outrage), I noticed a troupe of the most preened people I had ever clapped eyes on appear through the door.

Jessica noticed my staring and explained that they were all adopted children, called the Cullens. Apparently they had transferred to Forks two years previously from Alaska and engaged in relationships with each other. At least, four of them did. The fifth looked so sulky that I didn't even wonder why he was alone in the world.

But clearly Jessica thought the guy considered himself far too high-and-mighty for the likes of small town girls like Angela and herself. I covertly looked at them for a moment longer, processing all the details I could make out from this distance.

Except for the sullen loner in dark clothes, the two couples were very physically communicative with each other. The level of casual intimacy suggested long-term, established relationships. Oddly, they all wore light coloured clothes. That sort of co-ordination could only be deliberate. But what message were they trying to send? The cut of the clothes and quality of the fabrics suggested that they were all designer labels, and fitted like a glove. And the pale colour scheme was usually associated with either gangs, religious groups or a highly dysfunctional domestic situation. Very curious indeed.

But there were also the beautifully powdered white faces and hands that were elegantly manicured. Even the men's nails looked better than mine! I'm not normally so insecure, but staring at this lot for long enough made you feel like a half-squashed slug on someone's shoe.

I was going with freaky cult theory. Especially when they took a table near the window, barely talking to each other, let alone any of the 'normal' people around them. So I let the conversation of those around me suffuse my conscious, all the while sneaking further looks at the Cullens through my hair. One of many benefits of possessing a waterfall of long brown hair.

I suppose what I found weirdest was that although they were in the lunch hall with trays of food, they didn't touch their meals. The way that the other students stared at them covertly with various expressions of admiration, envy, lust and dislike. But there was no fear. Clearly the Cullens were not terrorising the students. It would have been much more obvious.

Honestly, there were just so many layers of conflicting messages that I was almost hyperventilating by the time I dashed to the girls' bathroom. Once in the bathroom, I slammed the lid of a toilet down and sat, head in hands, trying to remember how to breathe normally. Oh god, they were so strange. So wrong… I really hated the crazy ones. At least you could predict the normal thugs' behaviour. I'd take a broken nose over being knifed or kidnapped any day of the week. Past experience with school gangs – even some weird ones - informed me to find out as much as possible before making a move. But these Cullens were by far the most frightening and alien I'd ever encountered. None of their behaviour added up in town, but I wouldn't let these odd-jobs use the school and the students as their playthings.

I may be brand new, but I'd face up to them… if they caused trouble then I'd have to. There'd be no violence if I was there to stop it. Don't get me wrong, it's not like I cared about the students, per se – quite frankly they needed the life experience – but it was a matter of principal. I was a cop's daughter after all! I couldn't let the family name go down in flames just because I'd lied to myself about finding pacifism and reinventing myself as a normal teenage girl.

* * *

><p>I made it to my biology class on time, and immediately noticed Mr Sullen Cullen sitting by the window.<p>

Then I saw that all the other seats were taken.

Brilliant. Just brilliant. I got to sit next to a budding psychopath in a room filled with scalpels, glass beakers and dangerous chemicals. What could possibly go wrong?

_Stay calm,_ I told myself, _it's going to be fine. Just ignore him and do the work._ Thank god that I was further ahead in the curriculum than the rest of them. I could plot my battle tactics in relative peace.

Cullen saw me eyeing the empty seat next to his, but then deliberately turned to stare out of the window. This was encouraging. I walked over and pulled the seat out far enough that I could easily slide off it and away from Cullen if I needed to. Then, as I flicked my hair over my shoulder, to see what I was looking for in my rucksack (pen and paper), Cullen slapped his hands over his nose and mouth, practically slamming himself into the wall to get away from me.

I was irritated, because I'd had a shower that morning and knew I didn't smell. But it did tick another box on the 'Religious Whackjobs' checklist I had in my head. Nevertheless, I did my best to ignore him and got on with the work. Apart from being darkly amused by Cullen trying not to inhale the same air as the unclean heretic (me), the lesson went smoothly, and as soon as the class was over, I practically ran from the room, not even bothering to pack my bag. I just wanted to get the hell out of there before that madman had a chance to attack.

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><p><strong>So... feedback? Did I get it right? I hope you're enjoying violent Bella and her frankly hilarious assumptions about the Cullens.<br>There will be mince pies ****for reviewers. **


	2. Chapter 2

**So… I have not abandoned this, and I'm very sorry to keep you all waiting. You have been very patient. I am a bad person.  
>Okay, I warned that I would be taking this in a different direction, and here's the proof! I have severely messed with the timeline – please forgive me, I will try to include all the ground-shattering events. I feel this way works better for my version.<br>Please strive to manifest thoughts of patience and forgiveness when reading this – I am not familiar with Twilight. **

**Disclaimer****: I do not own Twilight and am very poor. These two facts do not correlate. **

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><p>The rest of the day was uneventful, and after arriving home, I made dinner. After finishing my homework, I brainstormed on a piece of paper – toting up all the facts I had gathered from the first day of school. It was a sort of ritual for me: putting my impressions down on paper and clearing it in my mind.<p>

_The Sycophants: _

_Jessica: Noisy, one-track mind. Tries very hard. _

_Mike: Tries far too hard. Doesn't realise Jessica's feelings. _

_Eric: Way too friendly – big opinion of himself. _

_Angela: Quieter, but still one who tries to be a little too nice. _

_Conclusion: Avoid being drawn into their games, but keep on their good side, since they can be used as a group to hide in (with any luck). Note to self: Try giggling at their inane jokes? _

Next…

_The Cullens: _

_Pale. Very, very pale. _

_Co-ordinated clothing. _

_Stupid coloured contacts, perfect hair and fingernails. _

_Isolated and very quiet._

_Seem to have paired off (with one scowling exception) with each other – internal support system? _

_Do not appear to be a school gang – other students aren't afraid of them, but revere them from afar. Personality cult? Do they even __have __personalities? _

_Are they part of a religious sect? Why were they adopted? _

_Conclusion: Keep an eye on them. Avoid direct contact at all costs. _

As I silently read the list back to myself, I realised with a shock that I was thinking like a delinquent again. Planning strategies on how to best protect myself, analysing personalities and shutting away the good, if frustratingly naïve, people of Forks. I was isolating myself off for fear of ulterior motives.

But my parents didn't know that. They didn't know one of my friends in Phoenix was going to jail for manslaughter or that another was wanted by the police for vigilantism. They were good people. Liars and thugs, yes, but they hadn't any other choice. And I was no better, I had just never been caught.

If the Cullens were religious nut-jobs it would explain why Sulky Cullen had been so repulsed by me: I'd heard of (and encountered) several religious groups that were convinced all women were unclean (thanks Eve), so coming into close proximity with women not of their exact sect was taboo. It was a wonder they survived past the first generation. I sighed and stared out of the window at the blackness beyond, drumming my pencil against the paper.

What to do…? On the one hand I could just accept the companionship of Jessica and the vaguely normal lot, or go solo and be a sitting duck. I was pretty sure that the Sycophants didn't actually mean any harm; I was just the alien bringing news from the outside world. The Cullens were a far riskier gamble – it would be the height of insanity to willingly approach such people without a damn good reason. Since I didn't have one, I'd just have to wait until an opportunity presented itself.

_Know thine enemy…_

'Testify,' I thought grimly and closed the notepad.

Then I went downstairs and chatted with Dad about the sort of crime that happened in Forks. Apparently apart from the usual spread of muggings, sexual assaults and thievery, the poaching of large wildlife in the forest had also spiked dramatically in the past couple of years, but the local hunters and rangers said that there was no evidence of any hunter stalking through the accessible parts. It was as if the animals had simply been spirited away.

That was weird, but Dad didn't seem overly concerned.

"It could just be something natural that the rangers haven't picked up on," he said, tossing me the bag of marshmallows to go with my hot chocolate. "Like sickness or something," he took a sip of his beer and smiled at me.

I frowned, deep in thought. I liked the outdoors and knew quite a bit about it – Arizona had some spectacular parks and there had been rare camping trips with Mum and Phil (when we could tear him away from team practise).

"But… animals like mountain lions are very territorial, with very large ranges – they couldn't just move away. That would mean they'd have to fight to carve out a new territory. There's no such thing as amnesty in the animal kingdom." I said staring at, but not really seeing, the bloated marshmallows sitting in the froth of the mug. "And there'd definitely be signs of a big cat fight – I've seen enough of them."

Dad looked at me quizzically, clearly thinking I was mumbling madness.

"There's normally a lot of yowling, spitting, sharp claws used with devastating effect on each other's faces…" I ticked them off on my fingers. "The only way to properly separate them is with a bucket of cold water,"

"Bells, what are you talking about?"

"Well, there would be the rare blow up in the girls' locker rooms back in Phoenix," I grinned.

Dad finally caught on and laughed. "Well I'm glad you weren't talking about mountain lions there," he said. I clinked my mug against his beer and toasted the thought.

"Amen, let's hope the oversized kitties are alright."

We then watched a couple of Tarantino films, literally cheering on the Bride to new heights of sensationalised slaughter.

* * *

><p>The next day, I woke up early and pulled on my sneakers. Every morning started with a quick run down the road – not long, but something to wake me up and keep myself sharp: I didn't want to be incapable of fleeing a nasty situation.<p>

Then I had a quick shower, packed my bags and snagged some fruit on my way out the door.

"Bye Dad, see you tonight!" I yelled back into the house, fumbling with my keys.

By the time I got to school, it was ridiculously sunny and perhaps if I wished very hard and clicked my heels together, one of my Arizona friends would show up and keep me company in this painfully quaint place.

"Hey Bella!"

I spun round at the raised voice, crouching slightly – ready to spring one way or the other at the slightest notice.

It was just Mike and the rest… I straightened and rolled my shoulders back, forcing a smile onto my face. In all probability it looked more like a wobbly grimace, but it had an outlandishly positive effect on them, because they waved harder, obviously expecting me to join them.

I did, and Jessica gave me a quick hug. She'd really win awards in friend-making, if nothing else; I felt strangely discomfited by this immediate trust and affection she was showering me with – it was touching, and made me feel like a wizened, cynical old hag with no friends in the world. I tried to squash the darker thoughts that were just begging to have their say, and smiled as genuinely as possible.

"Ah, I missed the sun – and I thought it was afraid of Forks," I said, tilting my head back to enjoy the anaemic warmth from above. There were some giggles. Good grief, was everything I said really that funny?

We went to lessons, but during the lunch break we all lounged around outside. All the pale students had rushed out, like a race of albinos, newborn and mewling they crawled out of their dank lairs in fetid concrete caverns and began their life anew in a world of sunlight…

Er. Ahem…

Jessica was trying to tan her face and arms. I was huddled in my coat, missing the desert. They were blathering on again, and I was tuning in and out of Radio Jessica.

"… and the Cullens are so lucky, whenever it's sunny their parents take them camping. I wish my parents did that," she pouted and flicked her hair. Mike barely spared her a glance, despite her unceasing attempts at passive seduction.

I steeled myself and tried to make the effort. I really, really tried.

"I used to go camping in the desert with my Mum and step-dad in Arizona," I said softly. "We'd cook our food over the fire, then lie back and watch for shooting stars and satellites," saying it out loud made me feel horribly homesick for one dizzying moment. But Jessica had already run with the idea of camping.

"Hey, I've just had a great idea!"

_Really? Was it to shut up?_ Said the voice in my head.

_Oh dear god, stop! _I thought, _This is no time to burn the frail rope bridges. I'm reformed now, okay? The sort who won't throw the first punch. _

_Yeah, but this would be a service to humanity. _

I hastily turned my attention back to the group before the idea could gain ground.

"We should go to La Push this weekend, I hear there are some great waves and a whole bunch of people are already going." Jessica said. This was greeted with enthusiasm by the others and Jessica turned to me. "Do you surf?"

I looked at her incredulously. "Until last week, I live in a land-locked state where ninety-nine point nine per cent is arid desert." I said, the temperature of my voice belying the remarkably warm weather. "What do you think?"

"Oh-okay… no worries, we can teach you." Mike said. I just knew he'd _love _to see me in a wetsuit, so I grimaced and told a barefaced lie as black as my jeans.

"Well you'll have to teach me how to swim first,"

They all gaped at me.

"You don't know how to swim?" Eric finally exclaimed, the first to recover from their temporary paralysis.

"Again, there's not much need for it." I said, "We were taught about self-defence and gang politics as an alternative." I was only half-joking. Gang politics wasn't on the curriculum, but that wasn't to say that the students didn't know an awful lot about it. They took it to be a fantastic joke, and Angela mercifully steered the conversation away from juvenile delinquency.

"That's okay, I don't surf either." She said, smiling at me. "We can hold the towels and drink hot chocolate."

I smiled and nodded back, even though something inside me shrivelled up at the thought of being trapped on a raining, windy beach with these people for a whole day.

"I'll make myself a pack lunch," I quipped.

* * *

><p>I agonised with myself over who to talk to. I needed more information, and with the Cullens off playing Happy Campers, this was my chance to not get caught.<p>

Jessica was too… well… too much like Jessica. I knew any questions I asked her would be spread around the school within a matter of hours. Mike would probably just gawp and ask me why I was more interested in a bunch of pasty introverts than in him – Mr Wonderful. Eric was an embryonic tabloid journalist – paparazzi goon if ever I saw one – so he was definitely out. And that left Angela; quieter than the others, a little cynical, but I liked that about her. She also didn't look like the type to run around and tell anyone just for a slice of attention.

So taking a deep breath, I steeled myself for the conversation.

"Hey, Angela can I talk to you for a minute?" I said to the bespectacled girl, smiling slightly to reassure her I wasn't angry. She turned to me, face expectant.

"Sure,"

We walked over to another bench and she sat down. I stayed on my feet, resisting the urge to pace.

"What's the matter?"

"The Cullens," I said, barely keeping the growl out of my voice.

"What?" The poor girl looked confused.

I hastily tempered my tone. "I was just wondering if you could tell me more about them. I mean, with the way they present themselves you'd think they would be the coolest kids in school." I said, trying to sound a bit more like a normal teenage girl. Idle chatter, that's the theme. Idle chatter.

"Ah, well they're really private and never speak to anyone. Everyone tried when they first arrived, but they were just politely brushed off." Angela said.

"Do you know what their parents are like?" I pressed, and seeing Angela's confusion deepen, I tried to explain. "Back in Phoenix I knew this kid, like the Cullens, he was withdrawn and shy and didn't make friends very easily. He was also absolutely terrified of all the girls. After a while he just suddenly stopped coming to school. It turned out that his parents were crazily religious and thought that the school was teaching him lies like science." I pushed my hair out of my face, frustrated. "You see where I'm going with this?" I asked, not wanting to draw the flow-chart of 'How to make a Serial Killer/General Lunatic'.

Angela smiled knowingly. "My dad's the Lutherian pastor here in Forks – he can't stand people like that – say that they drive more people away from the Lord than into his arms."

Nice work Bella, insult a cleric's daughter without prior information. This is why you have so many nice, well-balanced friends.

"Uh, yeah." I said, she had missed the point entirely. Never mind. "So, what does Daddy Cullen do for a living?" I said, switching subjects.

"He's a doctor – I think he works just in the hospital."

That was unexpected. Somehow the mental image of a half-mad recluse who killed animals for fun seemed more appropriate.

"Okay… thanks. I'm sorry for interrogating you – I guess that boy's parents in Phoenix affected me more than I realised." I lied smoothly. "I just hate it when parents inflict their mad beliefs on innocent children – I reckon it's everyone's right to believe whatever they choose for themselves." that bit was true – if I'd followed my mother's example I'd probably be in all sorts of trouble by now.

Angela smiled beatifically and stood, "No problem. So why do you really want to know more about them?"

Damn this girl was sharper than I'd thought. I decided the truth was the only way out.

"They remind me of school gangs from Phoenix. That sort of 'delinquent secret society' vibe – I just wanted to be absolutely sure that they weren't terrorising people." It wasn't the whole truth, but then Angela would _not_ want to hear about the time I was assaulted by three girls for defending a freshman.

Just for the record, the results were: Skanks: Trip to ER. Me: busted knuckles and bruises.

"Why, have they said something to you?" Angela said and she looked surprised. "To be honest, no one knows what's going on with them. They've made it clear they don't want to get to know the rest of us – so we leave them alone."

"Normally they'd have the crap kicked out of them – why is it different here?" I pushed.

"I guess no one wants to see what might happen if they were given any trouble," Angela said quietly. "But Mr. and Mrs. Cullen are really nice people – the kids probably have issues because they were adopted. Who knows what sort of background they have?" She said. This girl wasn't far off sainthood with that sort of instinctive compassion.

I'd have just dubbed them assholes and left it at that.

Then the bell rang and Angela stood to walk to class. I grabbed my bag and followed.

"Yeah… you're right. Thanks for the chat." I smiled at her. Angela smiled back – and I was amazed at how her whole face lit up. She was so pretty when she wasn't feeling awkward. Might have something to do with her above average height or something…

"Well, see you later," I said, and walked off to Literature.

"Bye," Angela called after me.

* * *

><p>I spent most of the afternoon's lessons pondering my next move. In the past I wouldn't have stuck my head over the proverbial parapet and yelled "Game on, suckers!" But this time felt different. I didn't want the Cullens to know I was watching them, but at the same time I really didn't want them to target me if their mood turned foul.<p>

The dilemma raged in my mind the rest of the day until I cut my hand while cooking dinner – then everything else fled my mind.

It went something like this: I knocked the knife off the table; grabbed at it; then in the fumbling, the point dug into my hand and dragged up my wrist. A deep, jagged wound ran from the meaty part of my hand to my bracelet. Blood went everywhere.

"Goddam!" I yelled. I won't repeat the other words I used, but let's just say they brought my dad running into the kitchen.

"What? What?" Dad yelled, staring at me hunched over, reflexively clutching my hand to my chest.

"Oooh…" I groaned, feeling faint. "I cut myself…" I'm no wimp, but even the toughest of manly men will admit to feeling a bit weak at the knees when he slices up his hand.

Dad pulled a chair over and made me sit in it. Then he looked at my hand and went a little pale.

"I think this will need quite a few stitches," he said grimly.

"Oh, must I?" I'd had stitches in the past – nothing can prepare you for the feeling of a needle tugging through your flesh.

"Jeez Bells, you aren't invincible – I'm taking you to the hospital right now."

I managed a shuddering breath and pressed my forehead against his shoulder. I felt terrible.

Dad helped me stand and pressed a towel against the wound.

I knew deep breathes would make me faint, so I tried to breathe as normally as possible: in and out, in and out…

Once in the ER, Dad rushed me through (using his badge to speed up the process) and next thing I knew a tall, pale doctor was standing over me. Please note: when I say pale, he almost matched the white of his coat. He had smoothed back blond hair and intense eyes that were a very light hazel, almost golden.

He was also very attractive, for a guy in his thirties. I noticed the way the other staff (male and female) looked at him as he walked over to me. I saw the name tag and froze: _C. Cullen. MD._

"Ah, Isabelle Swan, yes?" He said, looming over me. "Let's take a look at that cut then…"

Obediently I pulled back the towel and looked at Cullen Senior carefully, taking in every detail. But he was being a complete professional, carefully cleaning the cut while chatting to me to take my mind off things. Thanks doc, your bedside manner's impeccable.

His hands were surprisingly cold, even for a doctor's. I tried not to flinch, but my scalp was feeling hot and tingly as he carefully wiped the cut with antiseptic. It must have been a mild iodine solution because it hurt _a lot. _

"Sorry, that's always the worst part." Cullen Senior said. "I'm going to give you a local anaesthetic to take the edge off the stitching, okay?" He said, his voice low and smooth. I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. He administered it swiftly and then talked as he prepared the instruments of torture: the suture kit.

"So you're new? Word travels quickly in a town this size," he said, not looking at me while his hands moved deftly.

"Yeah… it was better for everyone if I left Arizona." I said glumly. I didn't want to talk, but it would have been rude to have said nothing at all.

"Problems?"

"I was tying my step-father down. His career would have sunk if he'd stayed in Phoenix. I couldn't do that to him or my mum." I said numbly.

"That's very grown-up of you," Cullen Senior said. "How do you like Forks?" He reached over and tapped the skin next to the wound. I didn't flinch. The anaesthetic was kicking in.

"Um," I gulped. I really hated stitches. "It's okay. Everyone's very welcoming." I said, trying to keep the sarcasm from my voice as I thought of this nice man's very hostile child. The good doctor did not send my highly-tuned internal Creep Detectors off; in fact, he seemed to be exactly what he presented. His face was animated and there was none of that creepy stillness about him, unlike his adopted offspring. There was something missing in all this. I couldn't perceive it, but I knew it was there – a yawning chasm of (currently) white noise that left the whole issue worryingly vague. I didn't like to deal in uncertainties, unless they were happening to other people.

Then Cullen Senior did the unforgiveable and sewed my hand together. We didn't talk then. I just stared at the 'fascinating' human traffic of the ER ward and tried very hard to ignore the dull tugging in my hand. This would hurt so much later.

Then I was bandaged up and told to not get my hand wet when I washed.

"You'll also find writing difficult, but don't pull the stitches." Cullen Senior said.

"How do you know I'm right-handed?" I shot back, unthinkingly revealing my own levels of perception for a moment. Then I smoothed my expression over to read: 'Curious and naïve'.

For a split instant Cullen Senior looked surprised, but then he too hid the emotion and smiled.

"You've ink stains on your fingers. Did a pen leak?"

"More like explode," I replied curtly. He was right, but I didn't want to give him the benefit of seeing his victory.

Dad rescued me, thanked Cullen Senior – who had the nerve to smile at me again – and then took me home.

In case you're wondering, Dad made some sandwiches for us.

* * *

><p><strong>CARLISLE:<strong>

The girl was very skilful, and even to Carlisle's vampire eyes he couldn't easily read her emotions. It didn't help that her heartbeat had naturally accelerated because of the adrenaline in her system. But interestingly her breathing was steady and calm. Clearly working through the stress and anxiety to a level of self-control rarely exhibited in girls her age.

Curious… What sort of life had she led to instinctively canvas every room she entered and every person she met? Carlisle had seen that behaviour in soldiers, policemen, criminals and (of course) vampires. The alertness was only compounded by the layers of carefully constructed defence – her clothes were demure but modern, the hair long, richly brown and she wore no make-up. In fact, everything about her screamed camouflage to the sort of person who could pick up on it. Sadly, Chief Swan was too emotionally involved to notice how his daughter constantly sought to hide in plain sight. It was a masterful deception, only someone who was looking very, very closely could notice.

Those dark eyes took in every detail, hard and constantly watchful, assessing everything in just a quick glance.

And her conversation was carefully considered. Every word chosen with care to impart a certain message. Was she even aware she was doing it? Something had forced her to grow up at a young age and give up on childish hopes. Carlisle felt desolate at the loss of innocence. He'd seen more than enough of that in his unnaturally long life.

* * *

><p>The next day at school, apart from all the overly annoying cooing over my bandaged hand, I noticed that the sulky Cullen from Biology (they were all equally creepy, but that one was openly rude on top of it) had skipped class. In fact, he skipped the rest of the week. I didn't enquire, but Jessica gave us all sorts of conspiracy theories ranging from the common cold to espionage in Canada. Why on earth anyone would want to spy on Canada is beyond me.<p>

Part of me (the part that was hell-bent on seeing me kill myself) wanted to confront him. But the other parts of me formed a temporary collective and squashed the idea flat and then burned the remains.

I'd just have to suck it up and stick to the game plan: wait and then neutralise the threat. It was just the waiting was driving me crazy, and my own subconscious was starting to cook up crazy images of what the missing Cullen was doing: such as working in an underground laboratory making improvised bombs or sharpening his impressive collection of medieval weapons.

When I realised my mad train of thought, I derailed it and vowed never to listen to Jessica ever again.

* * *

><p>That weekend, the surfing 'party' with the 'normal' crew was predictably giggly, cold and wet. It would have been an absolute failure if Jacob Black and some of his friends hadn't shown up. To my infinite amusement, the others were nervous and awkward around the long-haired boys who so casually sidled up to the van. I could see I was going to be grilled later by the likes of Jessica and Eric, but I didn't care – Jacob had saved me from an afternoon of cheering on a bunch of people I had no respect for, engaged in an activity I didn't care about.<p>

We walked along the beach together while Eric chased some girls about with a patch of seaweed. What was he, three?

I broke the silence first.

"So why aren't those pale posers catching the waves?" I said as nonchalantly as possible. Jake threw me a confused look. "The Cullens," I ventured their name.

Jake made a weird face, somewhere between awkward embarrassment and annoyance.

"What?" I asked, knowing that there was some kind of history there.

"The Cullens don't come onto Quileute land," Jake said.

"Ever?" I asked, confused and curious. What century were these people living in?

"Ever," Jake confirmed. "It's just a silly fairy tale, but for some reason the elders don't joke about it. We reckon they're all just being superstitious about shadowy old ghost tales."

I gave a non-committal shrug and inclined my head to let him continue his story.

"Well, to start with, there's this Quileute legend that our ancestors were descended from wolves, and we could take their form if we so chose." Jake said, a certain amount of pride in his voice. I didn't scoff at the outlandish opening – heritage and national pride was an important thing to most people. But to the disenfranchised native tribes I saw it as an essential part of their self-identity. The Navajo (or _Diné _as they call themselves) were an excellent example of this and I supported them one hundred per cent. "It's said that about a hundred years ago, a group of cold ones arrived to hunt in our territory and were encountered by my ancestors," Jake said.

"Cold ones?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. "Do you mean something like a ghost?"

Jake shrugged. "I don't know, but they're supposed to be monsters. Anyway, they weren't there to harm the people, but to hunt animals. My ancestors didn't trust them to hold their word and formed a pact with them: if the cold ones were to stay off Quileute land and never hurt any humans in either the white man's or Quileute's territory then there would be no problem with them staying."

"And how did that work out?" I asked, curious – Jake was a really good storyteller.

"Well, the cold ones stayed as long as they could – but because of their habits, they had to move on after a few years. There was too much suspicion surrounding them. And then they returned a few years ago, bearing the name Cullen."

"And they're the same ones that were here a hundred years ago?"

Jake seemed to realise that the story was pushing the realms of reality and grinned broadly. "It's just a story. Besides, I reckon the reason the Cullens don't come onto our land has more to do with the elders being old-fashioned, rather than there being any truth to the tale."

I nodded and sighed. "Yeah, I just wonder about the Cullens… something's not right with them." I glanced at him and noticed his very hesitant expression. "Don't worry," I chuckled. "I'm not in the same camp as the elders. It's just… well…" Do I say anything? Well it's Jake, so I could tell him a little. "I dealt with weirdoes back in Arizona, and the Cullens fit the bill – they're Grade A Odd and just set my skin to crawling."

"I wouldn't know. I've only ever passed them by – never spoken to them." Jake said with a shrug. "But you seem to know what you're talking about, so I guess I'll take your word for it."

I grunted my appreciation of the tentative alliance.

"Although, even amongst the white people, they sure are chalky." Jake grinned and I guffawed, causing several heads to turn. It was probably the first time I had properly laughed out loud since I arrived.

* * *

><p><strong>So… I hope you like this chapter, but do let me know what you think.<strong>

**Cheers! **


	3. Chapter 3

**Hey, hey… well, I am back on track, working on two multi-chaptered fics full time is better than working on one. When I get bored writing one, I switch to the other. Good system. **

**Also I am writing this from the film version, so please do not bite my head off. **

* * *

><p>Despite the promise of spring (Ha!) I was habitually wearing two t-shirts at all times. And while I had enjoyed the fairly novel experience of frost at first, I soon realised that ice was my mortal enemy after falling down for the umpteenth time when trying to walk from the house to the car. Dad would have helped me up, but he was too busy laughing his head off out the kitchen window at me.<p>

"Bambi on ice," he chuckled, brushing the ice off my elbow – it felt like it had been hit with a hammer.

* * *

><p>If we were in Arizona, and I had my friends with me, I might have confronted the Cullens. Maybe. But I was alone and the odds just weren't in my favour.<p>

The next week of school proved that way. Somehow the Cullens were on to me. Just as I was locking my car doors, the Cullens pulled in in their swanky rides – the big guy, built like a small house, was watching me from his vantage point. In fact, throughout the whole week I caught them throwing glances my way. Had they noticed me because I was the 'new girl'? Had their bratty brother whined at them about how disgusting I was? I wouldn't know, because I wasn't going to speak to them and also said brat hadn't shown up for school. For the whole week. That really did cement my dislike for him. No reasons were offered as to his absence, and even Jessica seemed to have given up making excuses for him.

Somehow I doubted he had the flu.

Then Dad surprised me by taking my car not only to have a thorough wax and polish, but also brand new tires were put on it. The roads weren't too bad, and when I called him on the excessive move, he merely shrugged.

"They were practically bare – I can't have my desert girl facing icy roads unprepared." Clearly he was delighted at my grudging 'you _really_ shouldn't have' pleasure of a neat and safe car – he was a wily one.

The following Monday, the rain was particularly heavy as I sprinted for the school building. My baseball cap (naturally one supporting Phil's team) previously used to keep the sun from my eyes, had now turned into an essential visor to keep the rain out of my face. With the hood of my windbreaker pulled down tight and my sneakers utterly sodden, I squelched inside. Eric, my faithful stalker, was waiting near my locker, trying to look like he'd only been there a second.

He started off rambling about the summer ball (already in the planning stages – it was February!) and how tedious and emasculating it was to be forced to participate in its organisation. I listened with half an ear, in the highly unlikely event that he'd ask for my opinion on the matter, as we walked to class… Biology. Great. Hopefully it would be another blissful week of solitary observation of my textbook and no…

Ah. Damn.

Eric was stuttering something about going to the ball when cold water dripped onto my head.

Mike was shaking his rain-soaked umbrella over my head. "Hey Arizona, how are you liking the rain, girl?" he chortled.

Ugh. Grammatically incorrect _and _a highly original nickname. Oh sure, the way to a girl's heart is always with a sodden umbrella and idiocy. Well… maybe if her name was Jessica…

Eric started to bitch at Mike for some reason, and I took the opportunity to escape. However, the prospect of sitting next to _him _was maybe not the lesser of these two evils. And he was staring at me. Openly.

I felt my eyes narrow as I stalked over to him, unslinging my backpack as I went. I could be mature. In fact, I'd be so mature that they'd be trying to give me a senior citizen's card to prove my great age. I wouldn't falter. I slammed (oops) my bag onto the desk and pulled out my pen and notepad, then dropped it on the floor. While making a great show of writing the date in the top right hand corner, a slightly choked voice to my left managed:

"Hello."

I glanced at him. His eyes were a little wide, as if he was afraid of something. Too right – I wanted to hit him and if he could sense that then maybe he wasn't totally wasting his time in school.

"I'm sorry I didn't get a chance to introduce myself last week," he continued as I turned to look at him steadily, my face carefully blank. His eyes were just like his adoptive father's – hazel-gold and very bright. Clearly Probability was taking a leaf out of Douglas Adams' books. "I'm Edward Cullen. You're Bella—"

"Swan. Yes." I said softly. I would not shout, I would be polite and I would not hurt him… no matter what the provocation. How long was biology again? Half an hour? And hour?

"… onion root cells!" the biology teacher exclaimed. I pointedly turned my attention to him, despite his superhuman ability for being the most cringe-worthy teacher in existence. He explained how we would win the sumptuous prize of a golden onion (he really is too precious for words) if we were the fastest to sort the slides into order of the Mitosis process. Prepared before the lecture, with much love and care.

"Ladies first." Edward said, and pushed the microscope over to my side of the desk. He was staring at me in a rather fixed manner, holding his whole body stiffly as he did so. I was ruling out the 'religious madman' theory and replacing it with 'autism'.

"You weren't here last week." I stated. _I challenge you to answer me truthfully. _

"Yeah, I was out of town for a couple of days…" he chucked briefly. "Personal reasons."

Uh huh. And I'm the Queen of Sheba. It was nebulous enough to have been the truth, but I wasn't buying it. He was talking as if there was some sort of script he was sticking to out of good humour for the other parties involved.

"Prophase." I said and pushed the microscope back towards him.

"Do you mind if I look?" he asked, dragging it back across the counter, his eyes not leaving my face. I gave him my patented 'are you stupid?' look. Without a hint of self-awareness, he looked down the microscope for all of two seconds. "It's prophase." He confirmed and wrote it on the hand-out.

What was he playing at? Everything about him set my blood to boiling. "Like I said." I gritted out. Was this mature? No. Get a grip!

He smiled slightly, seemed like he was going to retaliate. Then stopped himself and asked something else. "So what happened to your hand?" he nodded to the bandages.

I stared at him for a moment. Was he clinically insane? I let out a sort of hybrid of a sigh and a chuckle.

"You're asking me what happened, despite the fact that your father was the one who treated me at the hospital?" I said incredulously. Surely Cullen Senior would have told this guy my vital statistics over dinner if he'd been so inclined.

"Yeah, I guess I am." He said slowly – and again that edge of patience in his voice. It was as if we were both vying for supremacy in the maturity stakes. I decided to humour him.

"I dropped a knife and in trying to catch it, I cut myself." I said shortly.

"When did this happen?"

Okay, maybe he really didn't know. "The week before last."

"And how do you like the weather?"

Wow, that was a swift change in conversation. I think my expression must have shown my surprise, but he just kept waiting patiently for me to respond. Fine.

"Well, I don't really like the endless rain." I said, as the sarcasm tried desperately to crawl through the barbed wire I had barricaded it behind. Could I have the Oscar mailed out to Forks? I was willing to accept it via satellite.

He chuckled as he fitted the next slide into the microscope.

"What?"

"Nothing." He said, staring down the scope. "It's, uh, anaphase." He said, writing it down. I'd already done this class in Arizona, but nevertheless, the idea of repeating his little show of doubt was superficially entertaining. I stopped myself and remained silent. I wasn't going to sink to his level.

"So if you hate the rain so much, why did you move to the wettest place in the continental US?"

Oh, so now we're interested? Well touch sh— "It's complicated." I said shortly, refusing to fiddle with the microscope in front of me. It wasn't complicated, but if this guy was autistic he'd say something like—

"I'm sure I can keep up."

That. Was every male in Forks really this dense? Fine then. I'll tell you. "Okay, well my mum remarried, and—"

"So…" he interrupted, making an attempt to look sympathetic. "You don't like the guy…?"

Jumping the gun there, aren't we? What on earth did he think I was going to say? "No. 'The guy' is actually really nice." I said, putting sarcastic quotation marks around the words to staunchly defend my stepfather. I wouldn't let this jerk categorise my life according to some tawdry melodrama.

He frowned at me slightly, confused by my hostility no doubt, then resumed the task we'd been set, changing the slides again.

"It's metaphase – do you wanna check it?" he asked, his eyebrows slightly quirked. I read part sarcasm, part challenge.

I threw him another 'don't be stupid' look and shook my head, refusing to smirk. I wasn't playing that game anymore.

After the class, he was still following me. "Why didn't you move with your mother and Phil?" he asked. It was only as we were walking that I noticed how much taller than me he was. I'd fought bigger, but nevertheless…

"Phil's a minor league baseball player and travels a lot and my mum stayed at home with me. But I knew it made her unhappy so I figured I'd stay with my dad for a while."

"And now you're unhappy?"

Where did he get that idea from? Was my misery that obvious in the company of the Sycophants? "No." I lied. I missed Arizona more than anything, especially since all my friends there were nothing like the soft, passive simpletons I kept encountering here.

"I'm sorry, I'm just trying to figure you out. You're very difficult for me to read."

Oh great, now I had a stalker in front of me. Was this his way of saying he fancied me? While he was looking supremely awkward trying to say this to me, I took the opportunity to ask,

"Do you wear contacts?"

"What? No."

"Well, last time I saw you, they were dark." I challenged. "Now they're golden-brown."

"Yeah, um… it's the fluorescence… um…" he looked at the ground, frowning. He was such a crap liar. I think my disbelief had wormed its way to my eyebrows, for they were arched in doubt. Then, he simply turned around and stormed away.

Okay… I hadn't been expecting him to run away _again_. Was that his way of dealing with being backed into a conversational corner? Wasn't he old enough to have grown a pair? Jeez, what a weirdo. … I turned back to my locker and wrenched it open to grab my other books.

* * *

><p>The rest of the day was spent in a haze of confusion. Sure, the more I thought about that Cullen character, the more I realised that not only was I supremely irritated by his weird behaviour, but I also found it perversely amusing. Was this his first crush, or something? What had I been worried about? Clearly the guy had issues in the same way that most teenagers had acne.<p>

And to make it even more irritating, I noticed that he kept glancing at me the whole time – when he passed me in corridors, or in the lunch hall, and moreover his 'siblings' were all staring between him and I as if plotting some weird scheme. Would I be dragged off, forced to wear yellow contacts and initiated into their weird little clique?

My bad mood meant that I purposefully avoided the Sycophants – it wouldn't do anyone any good if I was to lose my temper for no reason. So it was with no good humour that I stomped to my car at the end of the day and started the arduous hunt in my bag for my car keys. I had my ipod in, and was wondering what I could make for dinner when I heard a squeal of tires and a horn blaring. I whipped round to see a car skidding on the ice, right for me. This was it. Death was inevitable. And you know what flashed through my mind, as I collapsed on the ground in shock?

_I could have made curry…!_

Only… I did not become a sandwich between my truck and the car. I couldn't really take it in, but one moment I was staring at the oncoming car – and then a chalky hand _threw itself out and stopped the car dead. _The steel buckled under the slim fingers like tin foil as the back bumper slammed into my truck's side. I was safe.

… What?

I turned to look at the owner of said miracle hand and saw… oh no. Edward's face, inches from mine. The look in his (dark) eyes was worried and intense. I think my mouth was hanging open in disbelief. People simply can't do things like that! I was about to tell him that he'd just defied reality when he climbed to his feet, and stalked off.

"Er… thanks?" I whispered. Now that sound was part of my world again, I heard people screaming my name. And then about half the school appeared around me, dragging me to my feet.

"I've called 911!" Jessica cried somewhere near me. Mike had his arm around my shoulders and for once I was grateful for their, usually insufferable, presence. I was in shock – I knew the symptoms. My hand throbbed and I looked down to see red starting to seep through the bandages.

* * *

><p>By the time I reached the hospital, I was feeling almost a hundred per cent again. Cullen Senior was waiting for me in the ER. "We've got to stop meeting like this," I joked. He smiled back.<p>

"Indeed – and I see you've undone my _hand-_iwork…" he looked at the stained bandages pointedly.

I groaned as I sat on the bed. "Bad pun."

Then his smile broadened, "If only all my patients displayed such _patience._" He said, sighing theatrically as he unwound the bandages.

"Stop…" I chuckled weakly. We both looked at the now exposed cut. I'd been lucky – only a small section near my wrist had torn. The rest were fine.

My dad appeared a second later, crashing through the swing doors and nearly sending a nurse flying – I bet he'd turned the sirens on to get here. "Are you alright?" he half-shouted at me.

"Yeah, I just fell over." I said. "Tore some stitches."

Dad looked ready to strangle me. "I mean the car…"

My evil sense of humour was playing up now. "Oh the car's fine too – just a dent in the rear bumper and a really big scrape, but nothing that can't be—"

"Bella!" Dad howled, drawing disapproving looks from around the ER. Dr Cullen had his head bent over my hand, hiding his amused grin from my dad. I detected a subtle shaking in his shoulders, but his hands were rock steady.

"I'm fine, really. The paramedics already said so." I smiled at him. "Really, Dad – I was very lucky. If Edward, hadn't been there to push me out of the way, I would have been mincemeat." My tone was cheery, but I fixed Dr Cullen with a long, searching look.

"Your son was there?" Dad turned to stare at Dr Cullen as well.

"Yeah," I answered. "He was so fast – he could definitely represent the state on the track." My tone was challenging Dr Cullen for a straight answer. I wasn't stupid enough to start babbling about how he'd been the other side of the parking lot only seconds before he'd blocked the car with his hand.

"You were very lucky indeed," the doctor said, his face and tone suddenly a lot more serious. "I'll have to re-stitch this section."

I nodded and gulped, feeling the blood leave my head again in so many minutes. "Let's get it over with." I said through gritted teeth.

The punk who'd been driving the runaway car was on the next bed and hadn't stopped apologising. Sure, he was an irresponsible moron, but I'd already accepted his apology and told him to lay off. It had been an accident and I wasn't really the type to hold a grudge for things like that.

I sent Dad outside, not knowing that he was going to perform the disastrous move of calling my mum, while I had my hand put back together again. So when I was released, with new anti-inflammatories and a whole new load of misery, I had to ring my mum and reassure her that I had survived. She cried a little, but seemed considerably calmer after hearing me babble for a few minutes about how much I liked it here. It's usually considered morally objectionable to lie to one's parents, but this was an exceptional case. Phil spoke to me for a few minutes as well, and assured me that my mum would be okay and wouldn't leap on a plane in the next twenty-four hours to check on me.

While Dad was signing the paperwork, I loitered in the hall. Then I heard some horribly familiar voices.

"_What was I supposed to do? I couldn't just let her die—" _Edward seemed to be arguing with someone.

"_It's not just about you; it's about all of us!" _Rosalie, sounding mightily pissed off.

"_We should continue this in my office," _Dr Cullen interrupted them both quietly. They'd noticed me at the other end of the hallway. Ah. Well, it's not like I didn't have a right to be there – they were the ones having a private conversation in a crowded hospital.

"Can I talk to you for a minute?" I said, looking at Edward.

"Rosalie…" Dr Cullen said, and ushered her away presumably to the aforementioned office. Edward hesitated for a moment, then walked over to me.

"What?" he said quietly.

"Okay, cut the crap, how did you move that quickly?" And why?

He looked mildly confused. "I was standing right next to you, Bella."

"No, you were across the lot." I snarled. I wasn't going to play ball on this one.

"No I wasn't." A smile flickered over his face, as if in amused disbelief of the madness coming from my mouth.

"Yes you were." I insisted. It took all my inner strength not to grab him by the front of his jacket and shake him like a rag doll.

"Well no one's going to believe you." He said, his face falling into something approaching hostility.

I snorted (very ladylike Bella, well done). "Yeah right, it would be just like me to walk around telling people something so ridiculous!" I glared up at him. "I'm not stupid; I just want to know what happened."

"Isn't it enough to be grateful?" he said bitterly.

"Oh I am, and thank you by the way. But I would really like a straight answer now, please."

He sighed, clearly frustrated. "You're not going to let this go, are you?"

"Not on your life." I confirmed.

"Well then I hope you get used to disappointment." He snapped and stormed off again.

That was getting so old. It's usually the girl who storms away from the guy, right? And what sort of parting shot was that? Pathetic. As soon as I got an answer out of him, I'd leave him alone. His behaviour was so bizarre – worse than the Sycophants, who were at least consistently annoying. This guy really wasn't worth my time, but nevertheless I wanted to know just what his deal was. I didn't think he and his crazy siblings were a threat, but even so… my nerves were always on a knife edge whenever they were around.

* * *

><p>The biology field trip to the botanical gardens and would mean learning all about compost. Hooray.<p>

We were all loitering in the car park, reluctant to show too much enthusiasm about getting out of the stagnant classrooms for the day.

"Look at you, huh? You're aliiiive!" Mike said, clearly trying to cheer me up.

"Yeah." I smiled. He was a nice enough guy – albeit too immature for my tastes.

Then he asked me to the prom. I noticed that Cullen was staring at me, as if listening in on our conversation – impossible, I thought. He's just praying I'm not telling Mike all about his freaky X-Men ability to treat trucks like tinker toys.

"I'm sorry, Mike." I said, apologetically. "I'm not planning on going to it – there's something in Jacksonville I'm going to instead."

"You can't go another weekend?" he said, looking like a kicked puppy.

"I'm so sorry; it's a really important appointment." I shrugged, looking so convincingly repentant as only a delinquent can. Mike's face fell further. I decided to cheer him up. "Hey, Jessica still doesn't have a date – why not help her out, huh? There's no shame in escorting a friend, especially one as pretty as her." I reached out and punched him softly on the shoulder, like a fellow guy. Mike laughed, nudged me back and we walked over to the buses.

Cullen and his two siblings Alice and Jasper (who did a stellar and permanent impression of a cyborg) followed and were ushered into the other bus by the effortlessly embarrassing teacher.

Once in the fetid, clammy greenhouses I was accosted yet again by Mr Sulky.

"What's in Jacksonville?"

"It's rude to eavesdrop on others' conversations." I snapped. _How_ had he heard that? Had he planted a listening device on my car or something?

"You didn't answer my question." He sounded unsettled, as if being rude was some sort of mortal sin he didn't want to admit to.

"Since you don't answer any of mine I'd call it even. You know, your manners are incredible, you don't even say 'hi' to me – what do you think I am?" I was ranting, but I'd had it – in the past I'd held out against people so much worse than this jerk. It must be the rain getting to me.

There was a pause as we navigated the dense foliage, at a stalemate. He seemed to be thinking, and I was busy planning which plant to shove his face into. Unfortunately, I couldn't spot any poisonous or particularly thorny ones nearby.

"… hi."

I suppressed the urge to turn around and scream at him. "So are you going to give me an answer?" I asked through gritted teeth.

"Yeah – I had an adrenaline rush, it's very common. You can Google it." He said, sounding smug at his successful excuse. It would have been plausible too, if the onrushing car hadn't been travelling at nearly thirty miles per hour. By rights we should have both been nothing more than grisly stains on my car.

But now it was my turn. "And Jacksonville has Floridians." I said, then promptly tripped over a hose. Edward caught my elbow and kept me on my feet.

"Can you watch where you're going?" he snapped. I glared at him and started walking again, yanking my arm free. I hadn't hit him yet and that was probably testament to my willpower. I seemed to have taken the reformation of my delinquency to a whole new level.

He chased after me. "I'm sorry I'm being rude all the time… it's just the best way…" here it was, what I'd been waiting for: a chink in that armour. He was going to tell me—

"Bella! Bella!"

Jessica interrupted us, literally jumping in front of Edward to speak to me. And that's when he escaped. Damn you Jessica!

"Mike just asked me to the prom!" she said excitedly. "It's weird, because I thought he was going to ask you. But it's not going to be weird between us, right?"

"No, of course not. Zero weirdness." I said, trying to keep the bitterness from my voice. "You two look great together."

"I know, right?"

The rest of the day was uninteresting and depressing. I couldn't be too mad at Jessica because she simply wouldn't understand, even if I told her everything. So it was another surprise when Edward approached me again as we were walking back to the buses.

"We shouldn't be friends." He declared.

"Did I ever say otherwise?" I snapped. "And if you're so set on us not being acquainted, why do you keep on talking to me?"

"You think I don't like you?" he said, his face a little too close to mine again.

"Honestly, I have no idea what's going on in that stupid, irrational head of yours."

"You don't know anything!" He hissed, clearly annoyed. We leaned into each other's personal space, unwilling to back down. I felt my weight unconsciously shift onto the balls of my feet, ready for anything.

"Hi!" it was Alice Cullen. "Are you going to be riding with us?" she asked me brightly. The tension fell away from us, now wasn't the time to start a fight – even if my hands were just itching to pummel Edward's face.

"No, our bus is full." Edward growled, and then disappeared inside it. Alice looked at me steadily for a moment, as if to apologise. I shrugged, relaxing into a slouch again, a wry smirk twisting my mouth. This guy was unbelievable.

* * *

><p><strong>Hope you're all enjoying it so far – please let me know if I'm doing it rightwhat you think of the way I'm treating it. As I said, this is unbroken ground for me – is it even particularly AU? (Apart from Bella's characterisation)**


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